


good boys, bad boys

by prettyboy_parker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 80’s, Cussing, Homophobic Language, Implied Smut, M/M, Multi, Smut, Smut between Highschoolers, They’re all in highschool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-26 12:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboy_parker/pseuds/prettyboy_parker
Summary: “No. Absolutely not.”“What? You scared? Did your mommy tell you to stay away from those bad boys, like me and Barnes? Or was it Maximoff and Barton?”“My mom is dead.”preps and bad boys!au: Stephen Strange and Steven Rogers are the shining faces of Midtown Public High School, while Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark are what the school doesn’t want to acknowledge.And of course, Peter is stuck in the middle of it all.updates and other shit on my tumblr: prettyboy-parker





	1. roller baby

**Author's Note:**

> another fic? Wow! I can’t seem to finish anything.

 

Peter’s exhausted. 

 

Usually, he  loves trying on clothes and doing his own makeshift fashion show, but it’s already been an hour and he hasn’t been making any progress.

 

“No. I don’t like it. Too...” MJ taps her pen on her chin, “Basic.” 

 

Peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

“ Come _on_ MJ, I’m losing my patience. These are Guess jeans, they’re practically the nicest thing I own!” He huffs, turning to step over piles of clothes to head back to his closet.

 

_Okay Peter, think._

 

He turns to sift through a pile of graphic tees, pulling out a pink MTV shirt. With some newfound inspiration, he grabs black running shorts from the  other pile. He quickly shucks off his current outfit, hiding from MJ’s view behind his door. 

 

“Okay, this is the last outfit.” He shouts, emerging from the cramped closet into his messy room.

 

“Yes! That’s the one!” MJ exclaims, tossing her comic off of her lap and bouncing over to Peter. 

 

“Casual but cute.” She quips, straightening his shirt and then taking his hands in hers.

 

“You’ve got this.”

 

“I’ve got this.” 

 

MJ grins.

 

“That’s the spirit. Now go get ‘em, Tiger.”

 

Peter drops her hands, turning to pick up his socks by his dresser. 

 

“Besides, it’s not even a date.” He says solemnly, sitting on the ground to slide on his Chucks.

 

MJ lets out a scoff.

 

“ _Sure_. And if you take any longer I’m biking home alone.”

 

The ride to Skateland Roller Rink is peaceful, MJ bidding her goodbyes as they neared her house. He knows the route to the rink like the back of his hand, and soon he’s nearing the ugly neon sign claiming  _“Free Skate on Tuesdays!”_

 

He parks his bike on the bike rack, when a voice calls out:

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter turns to see the shining face of Steve Rogers.

 

Steven Rogers is a junior like Peter, a leading quarterback on the football team and an all-American boy. With light blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the entire female student body fawns over him. His baby blue polo is paired with khaki shorts and Converse matching Peter’s own. 

 

He smiles and waves back, jogging over to where Steve is standing next to the front entrance. 

 

“Hey, Steve!” He chirps, taking the 5 dollar bill out of the waistband of his shorts. 

 

“Glad you showed up.” Steve says with a smile. 

 

_God, his teeth are bright._

 

“You know I’d never leave you hanging.” Peter responds, nudging him with his shoulder lightly, before wrapping his dainty arms around Steve’s large figure, pulling him into a hug. 

 

“No need to worry, I’m here!” 

 

Stephen Strange emerges from the parking lot, waving his wallet in the air.

 

Stephen is also a junior, one of the brightest in the grade but also one of the richest. With sharp facial features, light blue-green eyes, dark brown hair, and a tall lanky figure, he’s one of the top romantic interests in the school. Being a part of Steve’s entourage helps him up the social hierarchy, though. Not to mention that both his parents are some form of doctors, and they live in the nicest neighborhood in town. 

 

“Stephen!” Peter squeals, the other’s arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug. 

 

Stephen has told him many times before that he’s not a hug person, but most people can’t resist a hug from Peter Parker.

 

“Hey Pete. Had to run to get my wallet.” 

 

“No biggie.” Peter tells him, pulling away to survey his outfit. 

 

He’s dressed more casually than usual, a plain navy t-shirt with jeans. 

 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Peter spots the semi-familiar face of Pietro, making it clear that Stark and his guys are here tonight. Peter doesn’t know his last name, but he’s seen him around enough to get a first name and an idea of what he looks like.

 

“Steven Squared! My favorite Stevens in the school.” Pietro shouts with a bit of bite to his words. 

 

Steve visibly tenses, eyes becoming dark. 

 

“Actually, we wouldn’t be  squared , because our names are spelt differently.” Stephen mutters, earning a soft giggle from Peter. 

 

“Shut up, Pietro. What are you doing here?” Steve snaps, moving closer to Peter.

 

Pietro smirks, left hand resting in the pocket of his leather jacket, while the right raises his cigarette to his mouth. He takes a long drag of it, blowing smoke into their faces. 

 

“Can ask you the same thing. What’s with the hostility? Thought you were the peace love and happiness kid.” 

 

“Maximoff, if you don’t shut the fuck up-“ 

 

“You’ll what? Beat me up? I’ll just sit here and take it then, putting all the blame on you.” Pietro sneers, tossing his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under the heel of his Doc Martens. 

 

Peter prays that they don’t get into a fight. 

 

“I’ve got places to be, Rogers.” Pietro huffs, pushing past Steve and stomping up the steps to the skate ring. 

 

“What’s his problem?” Stephen asks, staring at where Pietro went off to. 

 

“Don’t know. He’s just a dick.” Steve grunts.

 

Peter doesn’t understand, because Pietro wasn’t really provoking them. 

 

If anything, Steve is the one who started the hostility in the first place. 

 

“Come on, Pete. Let’s go skate.” Steve says softly, placing a light touch on his wrist. Peter smiles and follows him inside.

 

To much protest, Steve pays for all their entrance fees, letting them get their skates and excitedly pulling Peter and Stephen to the rink. They sing along to the music, trying to dance while skating. It’s loud and bright but they all love it, that’s why it’s so crowded. Soon Peter tells the boys that he has to use the bathroom, and they tell him they’re going to get food. He skates off to the carpeted hallway with the bathrooms, blood turning cold as he sees who’s hanging out at the end of the hall.

 

The skates aren’t quiet, so the boys in leather turn to see the unwelcome visitor.

 

“Ah. It’s Peter, right?” Asks none other than Tony Stark, taking a quick puff of his cigarette.

 

Tony is a bit of a legend amongst the school community. Being the son of Maria and Howard Stark, previous owners of Stark Industries, most people around the world know of him. He’s a senior, so they’ve only talked once or twice. Peter is unlucky enough to have Business 101 with the guy. He can’t stand him, mostly because Steve has some unspoken grudge with Tony. He sits in the back of the class all day with a  _stupid_ smirk on his  _stupid_ face. 

 

“Yeah.” Peter tries to reply confidently, but it comes out wavering. 

 

None of Tony’s crew look sympathetic. His fear seems to amuse them. 

 

“You wanna come get milkshakes with us, doll?” The boy behind Tony asks, speaking up. 

 

Bucky Barnes. Peter doesn’t know much about him, except that he should really cut his hair and that he probably listens to metal. He vaguely remembers Steve mentioning he moved here from Russia when he was little. ( _Or was it Romania?_ )

 

“No. Absolutely not.” Peter says a little firmer this time, crossing his arms and shifting his stance in the skates. 

 

Tony’s mischievous grin only widens. 

 

“What? You scared? Did your mommy tell you to stay away from those bad boys, like me and Barnes? Or was it Maximoff and Barton?” He taunts, stalking closer to Peter.

 

Without missing a beat, Peter replies, 

“My mom is dead.”

 

Right then and there, Peter witnesses Tony Starks entire facade crack. His face pales, grin wiped off his sneering face. 

 

Peter smirks in triumph. 

 

Much to his disappointment, Tony’s sneering grin returns.

 

“My mom’s dead, too. Glad to know we have something in common.” 

 

Bucky looks at Tony like he has 3 heads. With some thought, Peter assumes that Tony doesn’t talk about his mom all that much. From hearing gossip, he’s gathered that Tony really did love his mom.

 

More than his father, anyways.

 

“Stop harassing him, Stark.”

 

Peter jumps out of his skin at Steve’s voice, his large hand pressed against Peter’s small shoulder. He looks up at Steve, and will admit that he was trembling slightly.

 

“Rogers! Always happy to see you. Is Peter your boy? Didn’t know you were a fucking fag.” Tony taunts, demeanor changing from relaxed to defensive. 

 

“You’re in no place to call  _me_ a fag when-“

 

“When what, Rogers?” Tony hisses, stepping closer to both Peter and Steve, “Why don’t you tell us. Sure Coach would love to hear what you have to say.”

 

“Shut the  _fuck_ up Stark, you swore-“ 

 

“ Please! ” Peter cries out, hand on Steve’s chest and the other held out to stop Tony. 

 

All the boys turn to look at him now. 

 

“Cut it out. Please don’t fight.” Peter pleads.

 

Tony backs away, slipping his cigarette back into his mouth. 

 

“Fine. We’re leaving.”

 

Tony barges past the both of them, Bucky, Pietro, and who he can assume is Barton following.

 

As Bucky passes by, he mutters in Peter’s ear:

 

“Remember darlin’, that milkshake offer is always on the table.” 


	2. splish splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sit there for a while, until the only thing that’s left is two wooden sticks and sticky hands.
> 
>  
> 
> “You wanna go swim?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Race you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: prettyboy-parker

In their small town of Fairley, there’s really not much to do. It’s too far upstate to take a quick trip to the city and too far from any of the main neighboring towns. 

 

So, one of the highlights of the summer months are trips to the town pool.

 

Peter likes to bike down, it’s not too far from his house, and sit in the sun and do his homework. He doesn’t mind going alone, it’s nice to be outside and have his thoughts to himself. 

 

Today, the pool is pretty packed, since it is a Saturday and school is soon coming to a close. He’s relaxing in the sun, making sure to reapply sunscreen every hour or so to avoid a wicked sunburn. 

 

“What’cha reading there, doll?” 

 

Peter peers over the top of his book, tilting his Ray Bans downwards, squinting at the blazing sun. 

 

Peter feels his mouth go dry. 

 

“D-Diary of Anne Frank.” He stammers, closing the book and placing it on his lap.

 

He genuinely had no idea Bucky was a lifeguard, the red whistle and red bottoms with a white plus sign showing his occupation. His long hair is pulled back into a bun and Peter will admit it’s good look for him. He didn’t know he was so fit, the lack of shirt exposing his abs and large muscles. 

 

“Damn good choice. I don’t think we’ve properly met. Bucky Barnes.” He smiles, sticking out his large hand. 

 

Peter takes it, replying, “Peter Parker.” 

 

He can’t seem to calm his nerves.

 

Bucky takes a seat in the plastic white chair next to him. 

 

“I didn’t know you were a lifeguard here.” Peter says, attempting to start a conversation. 

 

“I just got done my certification. My first shift just ended.” Bucky tells him, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.

 

_Fuck, his eyes are pretty._

 

“Good for you! I bet you’re bringing in the big money.” Peter jokes, swinging his legs over the side of the chair to face Bucky. 

 

He lets out a deep chuckle that literally  _melts hearts_.

 

“Depends on your definition of big money.” Bucky laughs. 

 

“I sure like the uniform.” Peter says before he can stop himself, his usual flirty demeanor returning.

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

 

“Really? Tony said the suit does nothing for my ass.” 

 

Peter hesitates at the mention of Stark, but purses his lips in thought.

 

“Well tell him I beg to differ.”

 

Bucky smirks.

 

“I’ll be sure to relay the message.” 

 

Peter laughs loudly and Bucky does the same.

 

“Say, would you like to stop at the snack bar and get some ice cream? I’ve got a worker’s discount.” He offers.

 

“Taking advantage of that discount right away, huh?”

 

“Sure am.”

 

Bucky’s hand is outstretched in a silent offering. Peter takes it and watches as his muscle’s flex as he lifts Peter out of his seat. 

 

“Thank you, Mister Barnes.” Peter says, quite sad when Bucky drops his hand. 

 

“Mama raised me to be a gentleman.” He quips back.

 

“She did a good job, then.” Peter says softly as they start their trip to the Snack Bar. 

 

Bucky tells him to grab a seat at a nearby picnic table while he runs to get their ice cream. Peter picks one that’s still a little damp from children sitting after swimming. A mom and her 2 toddlers are sitting at the table next to him, the young boy complaining about wanting to jump into the pool. They’re eating lunch and the mother is clearly exhausted.

 

“Here you go darlin’, fresh from the back of the freezer.” 

 

Bucky’s voice startles him a bit, but he turns to take the red, white, and blue ice pop from his hands. He sits down across from Peter, back turned to the small family. 

 

“Luxury.” Peter says before taking a lick.

 

Bucky does the same, tongue immediately turning red. Peter can’t help but giggle, covering his stained lips. 

 

“What’s so funny?” Bucky asks innocently, taking a large bite of the popsicle.

 

“You’re tongue is red!” Peter chokes out through a fit of giggles. 

 

Bucky lets out an obviously fake sigh.

 

“Your’s is too!” He exclaims loudly.

 

Peter catches a glimpse of the woman at the table shooting daggers at them, quickly ushering her kids away.

 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Bucky asks immediately.

 

_Good at reading people._

 

Peter shakes his head.

 

“Ah, nothin.”

 

Bucky gives him a look that reads ‘that’s a total lie’, but brushes it off. 

 

“You’re a Senior, right? What’re you doing after school?” Peter asks after licking the tip of his ice pop. 

 

“I’m set to head over to Woodworth Community College to study orthotics and prosthetics. I’m going to design prostheses and shit.” Bucky tells him nonchalantly, most likely getting this question way too often.

 

“That’s really cool!” Peter squeaks. 

 

Bucky smiles softly.

 

“Thanks. My parents wanted me to join the military, but this is really what I want to do instead.” 

 

“Damn, Buck. They’ll be proud of you, though. I guarantee it.” Peter tells him, the nickname slipping out easily, like he’s been using it for years. 

 

He gives Peter a look that’s impossible to read.

 

They sit there for a while, until the only thing that’s left is two wooden sticks and sticky hands. 

 

“You wanna go swim?” 

 

“Race you.”

 

The two attempt to fast walk back to the pool, swerving between trashcans and small children. They both make it back at the same time, scouting out for a unoccupied spot in the pool.

 

“There! I see a spot over there.” Bucky tells him through his deep laughter.

 

“Where? I don’t-“

 

Suddenly strong arms are wrapped around his torso and he’s plunging into the cool water.

 

“ _Bucky!_ ” He shouts in mock anger when he catches his breath, rubbing his eyes to rid them of water.

 

Bucky just laughs and dives in after him. 

 

“You’re a  _child_ .” Peter scolds when Bucky pops up from under the water, long hair soaked and chest dripping with water. 

 

“Oh  please . Like you didn’t just race me to the pool.” Bucky flicks a bit of water at Peter.

 

“That’s foul play.”

 

“Is it, though?”

 

This turns into a full on war, both of them trying to splash the biggest amount of water at each other. They’re quickly stopped by one of the lifeguards, though, and they decide to hop out and sit on the edge. 

 

Subconsciously, Peter starts to take handfuls of water and gently pour them over Bucky’s thighs. He watches in interest before asking,

 

“Whatcha doin’?” 

 

“My Aunt May always did this to me when I was little. Guess it’s an inherited habit.” Peter hums. 

 

_Wait._

_Aunt May._

 

“Shit! I promised my Aunt I’d be home for dinner. I have to go Bucky, I’ll pay you back later!” He exclaims, standing up quickly. 

 

“No need. My treat. I’ll see you around, doll.”

 

“See you around.”


	3. football

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you tie a knot with your mouth, doll?”
> 
> Peter immediately flushes, but pretends to act like the comment didn’t phase him.
> 
> “I’ve never learned. That doesn’t mean my mouth isn’t good for other things, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, I KNOW FOOTBALL TAKES PLACE DURING THE FALL. PLEASE IGNORE THAT.
> 
> Also, big fuckin thank you to @mynameisntjj for their awesome fan art they made for this story! I really appreciate it

__For Peter, this week has been incredibly boring. The entire school seems to have the itch for summer, you can almost feel it. His teachers are running out of planned material, but they still aren’t allowed to goof off.

 

At least it’s Friday.

 

“Are you coming to the football game tonight, Peter?” Steve asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

 

Before Peter has a chance to respond, Sam cuts in.

 

“You better be, Parker. This is the semi-final.”

 

Sam Wilson is a junior like them, one of Steve’s best friends and teammate. 

 

He sighs and picks at his mixed fruit cup.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it. You know that.” He responds, catching a glimpse of Steve’s baby blue eyes. 

 

“Damn straight.” Sam huffs, taking a bite of his almost-soggy pizza. 

 

The boy with fiery red hair and posture like a dancer turns to him. 

 

“We appreciate you attending, Peter. Even if some people,” He shoots a glare at Sam, “Don’t make that clear.”

 

“Thanks Vis. But really, I love watching you guys play. It’s fun. And I wouldn’t miss the semi-finals for the world.” 

 

Peter doesn’t know much about the senior, only that he plays football and Vis is certainly not an actual name. 

 

Vis gives him a small smile before turning back to his lunch. 

 

“Does anyone want me to take their trash?” Peter offers, standing up off of the plastic bench. 

 

A couple of hands place wrappers onto his tray. He turns and heads to the trash can. On his way there, he sees that Stark and his guys are eating at the table next to it. Taking a deep breath, he pretends to look at the other tables as he approaches the trash can. He successfully gets rid of his trash and tray without interruption. As he walks back to his own table, he can’t help but glance back at their table, meeting the blue-grey eyes on a familiar face.

***

“Why do we even have to pay to get in? At least we show up.” Stephen complains as they stand in line, waiting to pay their admission. 

 

“Come on, it’s only $2. And we’re supporting the school.” Peter tells him, poking him in the bicep.

 

“Oh,  the _school_. How could I forget.” Stephen scoffs, taking out his wallet a grabbing 2 dollar bills. Peter takes his own crumpled money and tries flattening it out.

 

“Hello boys.” Their teacher, Mrs. Harriman, says as they approach the ticket booth.

 

“Hi Mrs. Harriman.” They say in unison, holding out their wrinkled bills. 

 

She takes them and stamps their hands with a custom stamp of their school logo. 

The atom design is smudged and unclear from the ink, but Peter doesn’t mind. 

 

They walk inside the gates, noticing how the bleachers are already packed.

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter’s heart rate increases when he notices Bucky calling and waving to him, surrounded by Stark and his friends.

 

“Why the _fuck_ is he calling for you?” Stephen hisses, grabbing Peter by the arm and forcing him to make eye contact.

 

“Um, I-I don’t know.” Peter stammers.

 

Stephen’s eyes narrow.

 

“Just, go find Wong and Anne, okay? I’ll find you later.” He says quickly and Stephen drops his arm. 

 

“ _Fine_ .” He grumbles, turning to find his friends. 

 

Peter turns back around to face Bucky, only to find him watching intently.

 

He plasters a smile onto his face and jogs over to where they’re standing against the side of the bleachers.

 

“Hey, Bucky! Fancy seeing you here.” He chirps, stopping before he runs into the boy. It feels so natural for him to just lean up and kiss him-

 

_Wait, what?_

 

“Have to show some spirit somehow, darlin’.” Bucky says, taking a quick puff of his cigarette. 

 

Peter flushes at the nickname, rocking on his heels nervously. 

 

“You the spirited type, Peter?” 

 

Peter turns slowly to face Tony. For a second, he quiets and analyzes the older boy. Far away, his unwavering smirk gives the impression of constant mischief, but up close you can see the dark circles under his eyes that no high schooler should have. 

 

“What, no introduction?” Peter quips, crossing his arms.

 

Tony grins. 

 

“I think you know who I am.”

 

“Sure do.”

 

“Now are you going to answer the question?” 

 

Peter lets out a giggle.

 

“I guess you could say I am.” He tells Tony, looking down at his ratty Midtown t-shirt. He’s not wearing much, the shirt paired with running shorts. He seems to always be wearing running shorts, probably because  it’s ~~all Aunt May can afford~~ he likes them so much. 

 

Tony makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a hum. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, then stretches out his arm to Peter, raising his eyebrow.

 

“No thanks, I don’t smoke all that much.” He tells him sheepishly and Tony shrugs as if to say _‘okay, whatever.’_

 

The conversation behind Tony ceases. 

 

“Who’s this?” 

 

A kid with long, greasy black hair steps forward. He has a old, worn jean jacket that’s littered with patches thrown over a plain black t-shirt. 

 

“This is Peter.” Bucky tells him, throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulders.

 

He feels like he’s going to die. 

 

“Loki.” The kid responds, standing awkwardly. 

 

“He’s the baby of the group.” Pietro says from behind Loki, squeezing the younger’s sides. Loki squirms and swats Pietro’s hands away, the bleach blonde’s shrill laugh heard over the commotion of the game. 

 

Bucky leans down, lips brushing against Peter’s ear to whisper, “He’s a sophomore.” 

 

Peter would be shocked to learn that a sophomore is in Stark’s crew, but he’s too focused on the bubbly feeling that spreads throughout his body at the close contact from Bucky. Jeez, he could even feel the small amount of stubble brushing against his jaw. 

 

“O-oh.” Peter stutters, taking a few steps back. Bucky stops him from walking too far. 

 

“Okay team, let’s go find a place to sit.” Tony says, starting to head to the bleachers. Peter ends up shimmying out of Bucky’s grasp, almost running to keep up with the rest of the group. His short legs can’t carry him that far. They push pash throngs of people, finally eyeing an empty spot at the top of one of the bleachers. The group heads up the bleachers, combat boots and Doc Martens loud on the metal. They all sit down, Peter ending up squished between Tony and Bucky.

 

They both smell like cigarettes and cologne. 

 

The marching band is playing their school Fight Song before the players come onto the field. The cheerleaders are yelling something from the sidelines. Tony notices him watching them and nudges him with his elbow. 

 

“See the chick with the redhair? Heavy eyeliner?” He asks, pointing to the cheerleaders. There’s a girl with long, wavy, red hair in the team’s uniform. 

 

“Yeah.” Peter responds, turning to look at Tony. 

 

“That’s Maximoff’s sister. Slept with her once. Can’t remember it.” 

 

Peter looks away, uncomfortable.

 

Saving him from anymore conversation, the speakers amplify the voice of the announcer. He goes through the players on the other team, the Oak Ridge Bears. This is met from  many boos from the Midtown kids, the students from Oak Ridge’s cheers drowned out. When it’s time to introduce the Midtown players, the crowd loses their shit. 

 

Peter makes sure to cheer extra loud for Steve. 

 

The game is one of the more exciting ones, the team with the lead constantly switching. It’s dark, and while it is summer, there’s a chill in the air. Peter curses himself for leaving Steve’s letterman jacket at his house. He rubs his arms rapidly, seeking some short-lived warmth.

 

“Sweetheart, do you want my jacket?” 

 

Peter looks at Tony, startled.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to. I’m okay.” He manages to say.

 

“Please take it. I’m warm.” Tony insists, already starting to shrug off his leather jacket. Before Peter can protest some more, Tony drapes the jacket over his shoulders.

 

It’s heavy, warm, and smells like smoke and expensive cologne.

 

“Thanks, Tony.” Peter says, slipping his arms into the sleeves. 

 

“Anytime.” Tony grins, then turns his attention back to the game. Peter notices how good his arms look in the tight AC/DC shirt. His muscles are definitely from some sort of manual labor and Peter shudders at the thought of him bending over the hood of a car. His tan skin is covered in thick arm hair and Peter immediately thinks, 

 

_Italian. He must be Italian._

 

Peter forces himself to tear his eyes away from Tony, focusing on the game again.

 

The rest of the game goes quickly, Midtown eventually gaining the lead in the last 2 minutes. Their team ends up winning, guaranteeing them a spot at finals. They follow the crowd to head to the parking lot.

 

“Don’t want to lose you!” Tony calls out from ahead of him, reaching backwards and grabbing Peter’s hand. Peter can feel his face turn red. 

 

Tony squeezes his hand and Peter squeezes back.

 

Tony leads him to the parking lot, Peter ending up beside him, swinging their arms gently. 

 

“Um Tony? I have to go find my ride.” Peter tells him sheepishly as the group approaches their motorcycles. 

 

“Why don’t you come get milkshakes with us, doll?” Bucky says from behind them. 

 

Peter turns around in surprise, dropping Tony’s hand.

 

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” He says, toying with the end of his sleeves. 

 

“You never intrude. I’ll take you home afterwards.” 

 

Bucky smiles and he looks so gentle, hands tucked into his pockets. 

 

“Sure.” Peter finally agrees.

 

Tony taps him lightly on the shoulder. Peter turns around to see him with a helmet in his hands.

 

“Don’t want that pretty little head of yours getting hurt.” 

 

Reluctantly, Peter takes the helmet. 

 

“What about you?” He asks while securing it on his head. 

 

“Don’t worry about me.” Tony tells him with a smirk, swinging his leg around his bike. 

 

“Hop on, Pete. All you have to do is hold on to me.” 

 

Peter nervously gets on the bike, wrapping his lanky arms around Tony’s torso. 

 

“Bye, Maximoff. Barton.” Tony waves at the two other guys, starting the bike. Peter jumps at the sudden jerk of motion, squeezing Tony a bit tighter. 

 

“Nothin’ to worry about!” He laughs over the engine and Peter rests his head on his shoulder. 

 

They start driving, the air turning cool. Peter can predict how ridiculous his hair will look. He’s more than nervous to be on a motorcycle. 

 

If Aunt May ever found out about this, she would surely kill him. 

 

They eventually reach Tip Top, a close to run down neighborhood diner. Aunt May says it’s been around since she was little. Tony parks the bike, Bucky right next to him. 

 

“God, I love this jacket on you.” Tony murmurs as he unclips the strap on the helmet. His calloused fingers brush Peter’s smooth cheeks and he almost faints. 

 

“It’s yours, silly.” Peter giggles, playfully swatting Tony on the arm. 

 

“How about we head inside?” Bucky says sharply, stopping Tony from responding. This does little to dampen Tony’s spirits, because he grins.

 

“Drinks on me! Race ya.”

 

All three of them make a mad dash to the front door, making patrons near them upset. Bucky reaches the door first, most likely due to his long legs, and they all stumble into the restaurant. 

 

“MJ!” Peter squeaks upon seeing who’s the hostess. He totally forgot MJ just landed a job at the diner, taking the closing shifts. 

 

The brunette looks at him, utterly surprised. 

 

“Peter! What are you doing here?” She asks, but her expression reads  _‘what are you doing with them?’_

 

“Oh! Tony and Bucky offered to go get milkshakes. We were at the football game.” He tells her, looking up at Tony and biting his lip. He gives him a small smile, throwing his arm around Peter’s waist.

 

“Could you get us a table for 3?” He asks MJ. 

 

She blinks in surprise, remembering that she’s working. She hastily shuffles through a stack of menus and grabs three. 

 

“Follow me.” She says quickly, guiding them through the almost vacant restaurant. She sits them at a light blue booth, more than a few holes in the plastic seating.

 

“Thanks, MJ.” Peter tells her once he’s seated next to Tony. 

 

All she does is give him a glare before walking away.

 

When their waitress comes, an elderly woman named Ruth, Tony orders large vanilla milkshakes for them. When they arrive at the table, Peter immediately eats the cherry off of its stem. Peter notices Bucky watching him intently. 

 

“Can you tie a knot with your mouth, doll?” 

 

Peter immediately flushes, but pretends to act like the comment didn’t phase him. 

 

“I’ve never learned. That doesn’t mean my mouth isn’t good for other things, though.” Peter tells him with a wink, then proceeding to take a sip of his shake. 

 

“Like what?” Tony asks. 

 

Peter pretends to mull over the question.

 

“Talking. Mostly.” 

 

They sit and drink their milkshakes for about 30 minutes, all of them flirting back and forth. Once their glasses are empty, Tony bids his farewells to Bucky and Peter, including letting Peter wear his jacket home.

 

“Can I walk you up?” Bucky asks when they reach Peter’s apartment complex, helping Peter off of his bike.

 

“I, uh, I don’t know. My aunt..” Peter trails off, looking down at his worn Converse. 

 

“Hey.” Bucky says softly, taking his hand and tilting Peter’s head upwards. 

 

“I get it. Parents don’t like me.” He says sadly, pain in his dusty blue eyes. 

 

“But you’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I wish my everyone would see that.” Peter sighs, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

 

“Peter.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Peter nods with parted lips. He stands on his tippy toes and leans in to meet Bucky. His breath is knocked out of him when their lips touch. Peter’s own lips are smooth and soft, while Bucky’s are a bit dry. 

 

He makes a mental note to buy him some Chapstick.

 

Bucky pulls him in closer by his waist, Peter desperately leaning into the kiss. Bucky’s tongue darts out across Peter’s bottom lip, a silent request of entry. Unsurely, Peter parts his lips a little bit.

 

He’s not experienced. 

 

Peter’s only kissed two people in his life. First was Janine in 5th grade at the winter dance, which was also the day he decided he  _definitely_ didn’t like girls.

 

Second was some kid named Wade in 9th grade, who proceeded to tell him how shit of a kisser he is afterwards. 

 

In conclusion, Peter doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

 

His brain goes fuzzy as Bucky’s tongue slips into his mouth, giving him a taste of tobacco. He’s never really been one to smoke, but tasting it on another guy? 

 

That’s a different story.

 

Peter groans and grabs Bucky by the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. Bucky’s free hand makes its way up to Peter’s hair, tugging gently. 

 

They eventually run out of air, pulling away ever so slightly. Peter’s lips are swollen and slick, as well as Bucky’s. The older looks down at Peter, eyes blown with lust. 

 

“Goodnight, darlin.”

 

“Night, Bucky.” 


	4. tipsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m taking you to my house. You’ll be bedridden all of tomorrow.”
> 
>  
> 
> For some reason, Peter finds that hysterical.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re taking me home? Sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is utter shit and I’m sorry

“A party?”

 

“Yes, a party.”

 

“Steve, you know I don’t do parties.”

 

Peter swings his legs, perched on the granite countertop that’s probably 50 years old. 

 

“I  _know_ Peter,” Steve’s voice whines through the phone, “But it’s a celebration for us going to the championship.”

 

Peter huffs.

 

“You said you’d never miss anything football related for the world.”

 

“Steve, don’t guilt trip me.” Peter groans, playing with the phone’s cord. 

 

“I’m not! Just repeating what you’ve said. Practically all of our grade and the seniors are going to be there. Can you please come?”

 

“Steve, I don’t know-“

 

“For me?”

 

Peter’s never been one to deny Steve anything. He loves his best friend, a ridiculous amount, and he’s always had trouble refusing shit.

 

“Fine, Rogers.  Only  for you. Don’t get me drunk.”

***

Peter is wasted. 

 

He’s tiny, fucking lightweight, so by the first  _‘just for kicks’_ beer he was tipsy. Steve left him a while ago, preferring to play beer pong with his teammates than baby-sit Peter. His peers have been coming up to him, feeding him different beers and mixes of cheap liquor. 

 

So, it’s not much of a surprise when he topples over into Tony Stark.

 

“ Tony!”  Peter squeals, bursting into a fit of giggles as the older boy steadies him. 

 

“Hey, Pete.” Tony responds. 

 

Peter grips onto his biceps, trying to stop himself from swaying. 

 

“You had a little too much to drink, sweetheart.” Tony says softly as Peter wraps his arms around his torso, nuzzling his face into Tony’s chest. 

 

“Did not!” Peter protests, looking up at Tony with a pout. 

 

“It’s 12, Pete. Do you have a curfew?” Tony asks, rubbing his hand up and down the small of Peter’s back. Peter shivers at the contact.

 

“I-I, um, don’t know.” He blubbers, squeezing Tony tight. He’s pretty sure Aunt May gives him a curfew, but he just can’t remember.

 

Tony sighs. 

 

“I’m taking you to my house. You’ll be bedridden all of tomorrow.” 

 

For some reason, Peter finds that hysterical.

 

“You’re taking me home? Sweet.” 

 

Tony frowns and wraps his arm around Peter’s waist.

 

“Hold on to me, baby.” He yells over the ridiculously loud Bon Jovi, guiding Peter to the door. Steve’s football jersey that Peter decided to wear rides up slightly, Tony’s hand brushing against a smooth sliver of skin. Peter lets out a contempt hum, stumbling down the steps as Tony tries to steady him. 

 

“D’ya have your bike?” Peter asks, voice finally audible once out of the house. 

 

“Nope. My car’s down the street.” 

 

They walk down the sidewalk, Peter blubbering absolute nonsense. 

 

“Wow, I like your car!” He squeaks, stumbling over himself as he reaches for the door handle.

 

“Yeah?” Tony smirks as he helps Peter into the passenger seat of his AMG Hammer. Peter loves cars, but he can’t seem to focus on figuring out what type of car it is. 

 

“Yeah.” Peter breathes and Tony shuts the door. He climbs into the drivers seat, fishing through his jean pockets for his keys. 

 

“Tony?” 

 

“Yup?” 

 

“You’re pretty.”

 

Tony turns slowly to face Peter.

 

“I’m pretty?” He chuckles, twirling his keys around his fingers.

 

“Mhm. So pretty.” Peter slurs, leaning over the console and resting his head on Tony’s arm. 

 

“I think  _you’re_ the pretty one here, baby,” He coos, looking down at Peter.

 

Peter takes his tiny hand and strokes Tony’s cheek. 

 

“Wanna kiss you.” He mumbles, looking up at the older boy with his big, doe eyes.

 

“Do you, now?” Tony whispers, brushing a few stray curls out of Peter’s eyes. 

 

He nods and before Tony knows it the younger boy is pressing his lips to his. He tastes like 7-11 beer and shitty vodka. Tony cups Peter’s face in his large hand, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb. Peter leans forward eagerly, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck. 

 

“Pete, we shouldn’t.” Tony says when the pull away, chest heaving. 

 

Peter pouts, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

 

“Why? ‘M not good enough?” Peter asks, eyes shining with tears threatening to spill.

 

“No no no, you were wonderful.” Tony tells him, kissing the top of his curls. “You’re drunk, Peter. You’re not thinking straight.” He pulls out of Peter’s grip, much to the younger’s distaste.

 

“Am not!” He whines, crossing his arms. 

 

“Yes, baby. I’m taking you home.” Tony says solemnly, starting the car and bucking his seatbelt. 

 

“Buckle up, hon.” 

 

Peter fumbles with the seat belt and after about 7 tries he finally buckles it. Tony takes off, driving to his house and he can tell Peter is starting to get restless. He’s fidgeting in his seat, hands shaking through his useless attempts to steady.

 

“Tones?”

 

“Yeah?” Tony sighs, flicking his blinker on and making a turn.

 

“‘M not feeling too hot.”

 

Tony prays he doesn’t vomit all over the seats. 

 

“Roll the window down. We’ll be at mine in like, 2 minutes.” 

 

Peter groans as he cranks down the window. Cool summer air flows into the car, Peter breathing a sigh of relief. 

 

“Holy- _hic_ -shit! You live here?” Peter squeaks, watching out the window as the drive up to the Stark Estate. 

 

“I think you’re forgetting who I am, baby boy.” Tony chuckles, pulling into the four car garage and parking the car.

 

“That’s right.” Peter giggles softly.

 

“Tony Stark. Tooooony Stark. Anthoooony.” Peter sings as Tony guides him out of the car. 

 

“That’s me.” He says softly, gripping Peter close to his side. 

 

“You know, I love your name. Love love love. Anthooooony.” Peter drawls, nuzzling into Tony’s chest as they stumble to the side door.

 

“I’m honored.” Tony jokes, unlocking the door and leading Peter inside. 

 

“‘S so pretty. Can I call you Anthony? Pretty please?” Peter slows and looks up at Tony, grasping onto his broad shoulders.

 

Tony’s heart constricts at hearing his full name.

 

“Yeah baby.” He agrees, knowing that Peter won’t remember any of this in the morning. “Now let’s get you to bed.” 

 

“‘Kay, Anthony.” Peter grumbles as Tony steers him through the long hallway. 

 

“Master Stark? Is that you?”

 

Tony’s eyes widen.

 

“Shit, baby. Be quiet.” Tony whispers to Peter, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

“Yeah Jarvis. Just me.”

 

Peter mumbles something into his shirt.

 

The man who called out to them, Jarvis, appears from the grand foyer, dressed in a crisp white shirt, black tie, black slacks and suspenders.

 

“You didn’t have to stay up, J. I would’ve gotten home just fine.” Tony tells him while Peter rocks on his heels.

 

“Pete, stop.” Tony snaps, pulling the boy closer to him. 

 

Peter frowns.

 

Is Tony mad? 

 

He feels his eyes fill with tears. 

 

“I had to know you’re safe. I cannot make that mistake again.” Jarvis says softly.

 

Tony looks pained. 

 

“I’m going upstairs. Could you ask Marie to bring up water and Advil tomorrow morning?” Tony asks, already steering Peter to the grand staircase.

 

“Of course. And please keep loud activities to a minimum.” 

 

Peter accidentally lets out a loud laugh as Tony ushers him up the stairs, flustered. They walk for a little bit and Peter can’t keep track of where they are in the mansion. 

 

“Here’s my room. I’ll get you a change of clothes.” Tony says, opening the double doors to his room. Peter stumbles inside, immediately collapsing on the bed.

 

“ Comfy .” He groans and Tony chuckles from where he’s shuffling through his drawers. 

 

“Here.” Tony says, tossing him a worn t-shirt. 

 

Peter immediately takes off Steve’s jersey, the collar wet with beer. He kicks off his running shorts while slipping on Tony’s shirt. It’s soft and has some metal band logo on it that Peter is too drunk to read. He watches as Tony’s eyes flick to the discarded jersey on the floor.

 

“Why don’t you like Steve?” Peter can’t help but ask, staring at the bold white letters spelling out ‘Rogers’.

 

Tony sighs and runs his hand through his hair. 

 

“He did some shit. I did some shit. Bad blood, I guess.”

 

Peter hums a “ _m’kay_ ” as he climbs under the covers, totally disregarding the fact that this is  _Tony Stark’s_ bed.

 

“Getting settled, I see.” Tony quips as he heads to the other side of the bed, turning off the lamp.

 

“Bed’s nice.” Peter mumbles, eyes slowly drifting closed. 

 

“That I’m aware of. Night, Pete.”

 

“Night, ‘Nthony.”

 

Peter’s close to falling asleep when his brain has a thought.

 

A dumb thought.

 

But he can’t help but ask,

 

“Tony, can you hold me?”

 

He didn’t really mean to say it, it more or less just slipped out. 

 

He doesn’t regret his decision one bit when Tony shuffles closer to him, one arm snaking around his waist. Peter sighs happily, taking Tony’s hand in his. He can feel Tony’s breath on the back of his neck, soft, warm puffs hitting the fine hairs. Peter is engulfed in the smell of  Tony,  smoke and beer and cologne.

 

And as they both drift off to sleep, Tony stroking Peter’s arm and slotting his legs between his, Peter realizes something.

 

Some people aren’t as bad as they seem.

 

***

Peter is hit with a wave of regret when he wakes up.

 

It takes him a little bit to remember some of what happened last night, almost having a heart attack because he’s not in his room and there’s someone next to him. 

 

Bits and pieces of the previous night come back through his pounding migraine.

 

Tony is asleep next to him and Peter wiggles to turn around and face the older boy. 

 

He looks peaceful.

 

His pink lips are parted slightly, soft breaths falling from them. His dark brown hair is tousled, falling over his forehead. Peter notices how pretty his eyelashes are. He groans and pulls Peter in closer, burying his face into the pillow. 

 

Peter would love to stay and cuddle, but his stomach protests.

 

He has to pull himself out of Tony’s arms, earning another groan, and haul ass the the bathroom. 

 

As he’s hunched over the toilet bowl, discarding whatever is left from, there’s loud stomping and Tony stumbles into the bathroom.

 

“Oh baby, it’s okay..” He coos, falling to his knees and rubbing Peter’s back. 

 

Peter’s stomach clenches again. His entire body is shaking and his knuckles are turning white from gripping the bowl. When he’s only throwing up bile, Tony gives him some toilet paper and flushes the toilet.

 

“I’ve got cups over here. One sec.”

 

He stands up and grabs a Dixie cup, filling it up with water and handing it to Peter.

 

“Here. Don’t swallow, just spit.”

 

Peter manages a weak smile as he rinses out his mouth, tiredly spitting out the water.

 

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you back to bed.” Tony says softly, hooking his arms under Peter’s and hauling him to the bed. Peter groans when Tony tosses him lightly onto the bed, immediately tucking Peter under the covers. 

 

“There’s Advil on the side table. I need you to take it. Marie will be up with food soon.” Tony tells him, snagging something off the nightstand and making his way to the door.

 

“Wait!” Peter squeaks.

 

Tony stops in his tracks, turning back to face the boy in his bed.

 

“Yeah?” He asks impatiently.

 

“Can you...can you stay? Unless you can’t,” Peter manages to ask, hiding half of his face under the white comforter.

 

Grinning, Tony peels off his shirt, leaving him in only his boxers. Peter’s face turns a deeper shade of red, but he manages to smile through the headache.

 

Wordlessly, Tony flops onto the bed and snuggles up to Peter. 

 

“Go back to sleep,” Tony mumbles in his ear, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw.

 

Peter is utterly and entirely fucked. 


End file.
